Transcendence. Torments of Nate Deon

Prologue 1 THE NEW EARTH.

2235…

You’d think it would be a world flourishing with abundance of life and technology. A pure Science Fiction setting where synthetics, AIs and clones would have replaced the majority of population.

Jet packs, rocket boots, flying cars and personal flight drones would have taken control of the skies.

Or that some goody two shoes of a hero would have saved humanity and brought about world peace?

No it wasn’t...

There were no continents, no countries. No nations. There were no borders.

After an unforeseen event, the whole planet had become a wasteland.

Oceans and lakes were gone. Trees were no more. The sun was abnormally hot—If not anything you could clearly see the heatwaves seeping out from the ground and rising up.

Basically, the whole planet had become one enormous desert, unsuitable for survival.

There was nothing but sand as far as the eye could see, baked by the flaring sun. If it wasn’t the shade of sand you’d confuse it for an ocean at a standstill. Small and large dunes were similar to waves that any person in constant motion would definitely think they moved.

To think something like this could happen.

What could have brought such destruction to this beautiful planet we call home?

From above, even if it was without coloration from the pinkish glow of the ready to set sun the serpentine dunes which spreads across the plane were… breathtaking.

Not a single structure in sight…

“Aarh… aarh…aarh”

The only recognizable sound was that of vultures (?), who had been circling, screaming as they descended for a carcass on the desert floor, their first catch of the day.

Clearly one could see the yield was rotten, but not a single fly or worm had laid claim to it. The abnormality of the sun’s heat was enough to kill any insect and hinder any further decomposition. It was so dry the only conclusion one could give was the predator(s) which took down the beast left it in such conditions, before.

Perching around the carcass of the unfamiliar beast it would quickly escalate to becoming a battle field.

Survival of the most savage.

The committee of six; three which were vultures and the other three vulturelike carnivorous birds— red eyes, dark gray beaks, the top on the beak lumped, had rows of the sharp pointy tiny teeth, the colour of its feathers wasn’t perfect jet black like that of a crow rather they reflected dark purple as the sun shone on it. They had short sturdy tails covered in tiny feathers and at the tip bushy long feathers. They looked like something from prehistoric times—were about to have a battled so brutal to determine who would keep what little meat that was still stuck to the ribcage of the decayed beast.

Ambassadors from the two parties hopped on the carcass, their eyes set ablaze with fury when they laid sights on each other.

Two predators had come in contact and it was a must that only one, the stronger, be the only one to claim the bounty.

They spread their wings, waving their claws on the bones of the beast, readying for war.

They leaped into the air claws aimed at each other, at charge.

Clash and locked in talons, the overwhelming power from the vulture propelled the other bird back. Its opponent falling back first to the sandy floor the vulture let go landing safely and targeting its next prey, another of the other bird. The battle had ensued, to find the victor. The vultures attacked the other birds.

Quickly and without hesitation the other ambassador stood and pounced for revenge, catching the vulture off guard and landed a clean cut at the vulture just below its eye. Every party member was now matched with their counterparts.

It was obvious the monstrous birds called carnecomedor would win.

Sand was kicked into the air in wake of the brawl. The vultures battered and chomped at them and they in return tried to sink their tiny pointy teeth into the vultures.

They had placed the carcass aside… seemed rather to have forgotten about it. It wasn’t just a bout to determine the victor who would claim the reward anymore but a fight to the death. Either way, when it was over the victor would not only have the meat on the carcass, but the spoils of their battle as well—the flesh of the fallen.

Feathers flew about, carried by the breeze as the brawl raged on.

Keh… Keh. Splat-splatter… chiiiii. That was the sound of meat being ripped, blood splattered and being boiled dry by the hot desert sand.

Thud. A monster’s body falls to the sand.

Plat. A boot punches into the dirt. Another joined in and walked.

The figure in all black moved by, scaring the birds as he walked pass. Those unable to fly due to the blood bath dashed to give way and the others going off on a short flight before returning to the carcass and now setting their sights to a new food source for the time being.

Thanks to whoever it was they had enough to share—that is if they were willing to.

He looks like he’s human… very human at best. Correction, he is human (!?), in the very least.

To think a human would survive in this condition? Well, was he really human?

Conclusion:

He wasn’t your average human.

The black trench jacket on his back loosely swayed with the dry desert winds as they pressed on towards their unknown destination.

The 170cm tall Sixteen year old was thin and had slightly toned muscles. He’s been living on these barren lands long since he could remember.

His night black undercut hair absorbed the light from the sun and harshly swayed to the fierce desert winds. Even though the strands waved roughly and impaired his sight it didn’t bother him.

His half closed light blue eyes were void of any life and any emotion. He had a ‘cold’ to his already blank expression. The course of time had eroded his expressions, sense of emotions and belong.

This mysterious boy who had been walking under this intense heat showed not a single sign that he was weary, maybe that would be thanks to his jacket—No! Such a thing should bring nothing but more heat considering it was leather. It was light, flexible and strong, but maybe with the open flaps breeze would flow in and cool him.

He had no bag or purse which would give the impression of him carrying rations to survive. Not even his jacket looked like it carried anything of that sort. So how could he have survived? What did he eat? What did he drink to quench his thirst? Any person would be dead considering the variables presented.

Even from the looks of it, since there was no such thing as a structure in sight, apart from the row of large decrepit satellite dishes half buried in the sand, it would seem he had been walking longer than what he appeared to have, but not even a single drop of sweat was on his face.

No food, no water on his person and not to mention he was walking under that harsh, intense heat from the sun! Who or what is this boy? No ordinary human should be able to survive this long on this and any desert without sustenance. So how could he?

He may have been walking slowly but he was making quick pace.

Where might he be going if the world is in ruins? Is he the only survivor on this planet…? Or would it be safe to assume there are others that did survive too? Come to think of it, looking at him he doesn’t look like one; a survivor.

The overall description of one that should be called a survivor in such a situation: would be one who’s cloth and boots are worn out and in tatters, had a head covering to block the sun but still walks like he was drunk from all the heat from the sun and the sand; but he looked like one in perfect health except for the fact that he was slightly pale. And he walked all poised and firm like one who didn’t care for anything in the slightest, but also not in a way which would mean he was carefree. It was stern, yet subtle. Simply put, he was bold and confident.

Caution:

This new earth was a treacherous place, filled with monsters and uncertainty. Be careful not to be misled, mirages, illusions and others lest you lose your life.

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